Where the Wind Blows
by mymuseandi
Summary: Sam and Dean took on a case for the rich. As they fumbled their way through maze-like corridors, acres of property and a client who may or may not be guilty, the case turned personal. It was a race to banish the supernatural before it struck again.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So, this is written for the Big Bang challenge over at LJ, and it's been polished again before I posted it here. It's finished – thankfully – so I'll be posting a chapter a day, editing again as I post. There are five chapters altogether.

I've thanked a whole lot of people at the main post, so I'll not repeat it here, but just so you know, I didn't do this by myself. :)

**Disclaimer:** Yes, I own them. The original characters, I mean. I own neither Dean nor Sam Winchester, however much I want to!

***SnSnSnSnSn***

_This can't be happening._

She screamed as burning horizontal lines of scarlet appeared on her stomach and blood soaked through her nightgown. Fear and adrenaline helped her propel herself out of the bed, but before she reached the door, an invisible hand suddenly pulled her back. She fell to the floor, her injured arm underneath her body, and the acute pain took her breath away for a second. She kicked at her captor, flailing limbs meeting nothing but air.

She screamed again as two more long gashes appeared, the midsection of her gown now completely drenched with blood. Rolling to her side, she tried to crawl back towards the bed, but it wasn't done with her. She found herself on her back as before, exposed and at its mercy. This time she could feel her stomach muscles pulling apart, as though her guts were going to be spilled. She screamed for a third time, louder than ever.

The part of her that wasn't consumed with pain, could hear someone yelling her name from the other side of the door, but at the moment energy and survival instinct deserted her and she couldn't do anything else but break into exhausted, frightened tears and gasping breaths. The pressure on her chest increased and she felt herself enveloped, suffocated by the weight on top of her.

_Please God, don't let me die. Not like this._

***SnSnSnSnSn***

The Impala screeched to a stop in front of a gate.

The big, black, wrought-iron gate, with bars and spikes at the top, was a definite warning for those who might be thinking of climbing it; they would be risking important appendages and organs. Dark and forbidding, with the words "cogito ergo sum" in capital letters etched on the top arc of the gothic-looking iron. Walls of granite extended from both sides of the monstrosity.

Sam mouthed the words silently, and then translated them out loud. "I think, therefore I am."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Awesome. He has to remind himself that he exists. Are we sure that this guy is on the level?"

Sam shrugged. "Donna did say that he's a good guy. Can you just press the button on the intercom to let them know we are here?"

Dean rolled the window down and pressed the buzzer on the granite pillar flanking the gate.

The voice in the other end was low, with a hint of anxiety lacing the crisp word. "Yes?"

"Hi. This is Dean and Sam Winchester. Donna sent us to talk to a Mr. Frances?"

"Oh, right. That's me. I'm going to send you the pin for the gate through your phone right now. Enter it on the keypad and the gate will open. Just follow the road, it'll lead you to the house. I'll be there to meet you at the front door."

"Roger that."

Dean turned to face the younger Winchester, raising an eyebrow. "I'm surprised he doesn't have a housekeeper or a guard to answer. And why would he bother to give us the pin? He could just unlock it for us from inside his house."

Sam shrugged. "So he's a little weird, it's not like we can throw stones. He probably wants to verify that it's really us at the gate. An impostor won't be getting the pin through the phone."

"But who would want to pretend to be a couple of brothers who hunt ghosts just so they could get into the house? There's a hundred other people with normal jobs they can impersonate."

Sam frowned, apparently thinking through the question.

Dean rolled his eyes. _Christ, Sam, I was just being sarcastic._

Sam's phone beeped, signaling a text message. Dean leaned over to check out the digits, and then pressed the appropriate numbers on the keypad below the intercom.

The gate swung open noiselessly. Dean was expecting a creaking sound at the very least, the silent movement only made it more ominous.

"Huh. That's not creepy or anything."

Both brothers stared for a beat at the long two-lane road flanked by trees stretched in front of them, before Dean revved up the Impala and she glided along the asphalt. On both sides, green grass stretched out indefinitely, with the occasional tree dotting the landscape. Dean was reminded of golf courses that he had seen on TV.

"Is this our usual pro-bono rate, or are we actually getting something out of this?" Dean asked hopefully as he maneuvered the winding road. Their cash flow was drying up and they could use the extra money.

"He did say he's willing to pay us."

"Let me guess, he hasn't said how much." Dean let his voice slide into sarcasm, "Awesome. Have you printed out whatever research that you found from that town hall?"

Sam nodded. "I'll go through it with you later."

"Super. I can't wait."

Sam gave him an eyeroll at that.

After five minutes, both of them sighted a rust-red building situated at the end of the road. What looked like a moderately-sized building grew larger the nearer they got to it. By the time the car arrived at what looked like the foyer of the building, the house – _looks more like a castle really,_ Dean thought – loomed over them like a shadow from a giant odd-shaped creature.

They got out of the car, doors thudding shut in tandem, and surveyed their surroundings and the house.

Dean was pretty impressed. "Dude, I've seen smaller hotels than this."

"Dude, have you stayed in an actual hotel before?" Sam asked, his face skeptical.

Dean was indignant."Hey, I've stayed in a hotel before. Once of those high-class, five-star hotels, as you call it."

Sam looked interested. "Really? When?"

"Once, when you were in Stanford, Dad and I did a gig in New York City, and the guy who called us for help sprung for a room in a hotel in the middle of Times Square, this place called Casablanca Hotel, real posh, with a café and all the trimmings. It's still a hell lot smaller than this."

"You went to New York City for a gig with Dad? You told me that you avoided the bigger cities."

Dean cracked a grin. "We were like two hours away. He was drunk when we got the call from Caleb. I took the call, and since we were the nearest and Caleb said the job was an urgent one, I took it. By the time he was properly sober, we'd already reached the Big Apple. We met up with the guy, he showed us the grave of his former tenant, I did the actual salt and burn by myself. Dad was standing by, managed to shoot the spirit when she appeared. The guy was so grateful he insisted on paying for the room. That was before Dad got the truck."

"So you basically got him there against his will."

"He calmed down, eventually. The soft beds and the fact the guy was willing to pick up the mini bar tab helped."

Sam laughed. His dimples appeared, and for a second, Dean wished he had something to record the moment. It was getting rarer by the day.

A soft cough caught their attention and Dean and Sam turned their heads towards the front door. A blonde man of average height stood by the doorway with a small smile, holding out his hand.

"You must be Dean and Sam Winchester. I'm George Frances. Thank you so much for coming."

Sam shook the extended hand. "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean. You have a lovely home, Mr. Frances."

"George please, and thank you. I designed most of the house myself. Come in, please, and I can show you to your rooms. I'm running late on a project, so perhaps you can make yourselves comfortable after the long drive and we can talk more tonight after dinner?"

Sam answered for both of them, while Dean opened the trunk, handing out Sam's duffel to him and shouldering his own. He debated for a second about getting the bag of weapons, then shrugged and took it anyway. He slammed the trunk shut and wondered if he could just leave the car at the spot or if George preferred to have him park it away from the entrance, out of sight.

Before he could open his mouth to ask, George volunteered. "The garage is at the side of the house. I'll show it to you later on. Or you can just leave it here, I don't mind. I'll inform my security not to touch it without permission."

Dean nodded and followed the other men into the house.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Sam hoped that they would have enough time to explore the house before tackling the job. Inside, the place was a maze, with twists and turns and dark corners and winding staircases going up and down at different places. He had been in the house for less than five minutes and he had counted three doors, one large winding staircase going up, two staircases going down to who knew where, and had made two lefts and a right. At this rate he might even need to ask for a map.

George broke the silence as they walked. "How is Donna? How's her daughter Katie? Is she well?"

There was an underlying question that Sam could sense hovering in the air. _Did she say anything to you about me?_

Sam answered for both of them. "They're good, we spoke to them just before we set off. Donna mentioned that she worked for you before, and that you needed help for a similar situation, but that's about it, really."

"She used to be my personal assistant. I'm an architect, mostly retired now, and I set up my own company with a friend. She was with me for five years, and we were all sorry when she left to move to Massachusetts with her family. I still send her the occasional email."

Dean spoke up. "Is that how you found out what happened to her daughter?"

George nodded. "I called her a few weeks ago. We got to talking, and she told me about her daughter, how you, erm, solved the problem. I was hoping you could do the same here."

They made a left into a long corridor. "You told us on the phone that something supernatural was going on in the house. How do you know it's not just some prank gone wrong?"

George stopped somewhere in the middle of the corridor, right in front of the only two doors along the area. The heavy oak doors were facing each other. He gestured at them, a small smile gracing his face.

"I'll let my daughter tell you the whole story. She'll be back in about an hour. In the meantime, these are your rooms. Please, make yourselves at home, and I'll come and fetch both of you for dinner at around seven, is that all right?"

Dean nodded and Sam mirrored his actions. George nodded back, a strange glint in his eyes, and Sam had to wonder about that for a second, before George turned and retraced his steps, leaving the Winchesters standing by the doors staring at his departing back.

Dean looked at Sam and smirked. "So, come over to my digs after you check out yours?"

Sam rolled his eyes and grunted his acquiescence. He turned and opened the door to his room.

_Huh. Impressive._

The room was decorated tastefully, a two layer set of curtains framing the large glass windows, and on their right was a desk and an office chair. Plain dark blue sheets with a matching bedspread covered a king-sized bed complete with at least four pillows. The bed was neatly made up.

_Wow, the bed is really huge. I bet my feet won't go over the edge._

A set of white towels was stacked neatly on the bedside table. To the left from where Sam was standing, a large flat screen television dominated the area. Several shelves stacked with books and knick knacks were nailed at the furthermost corner of the room, and Sam noticed a door, most likely a closet, taking up more than half of the wall adjacent to the door, and another door right beside it.

Sam dropped his duffel on the bed and sneaked a peek inside the enormous walk-in closet, then went over to check out what was behind the second door.

It turned out to be an adjoining bathroom, this time in a blue-green color scheme to complement the bedroom. The bathroom was equipped with a toilet, a shower area and a bathtub – _it's big enough to fit all of me_ – and on the sink, some bottles of shampoo and soap, along with a new toothbrush and shaving kit.

_Wow, this bathroom is as big as some of the rooms that we've stayed in. And it looks so much cleaner too. _

Sam closed the door to the bathroom and made his way back to the bed. He parked his butt on the edge and almost toppled back, it was so soft and inviting and Sam was aching from eight hours straight in the car. But he was afraid that he couldn't – or wouldn't – get up from the bed once he laid on it. So, with a regretful sigh and a mental note to turn in early, Sam pulled his duffel towards him, extracted a file full of research materials that he had printed out from the town hall and spent a minute to make sure everything was there before standing up to trudge to his brother's room.

He rapped twice on the door, and receiving no answer, turned the knob and stepped into the room, promptly stopping in his tracks.

Dean was still fully dressed, his socks still on his feet, curled up on his side, on the bed, sound asleep. His boots were carelessly lying on their sides by the foot of the bed, laces undone.

_He must be exhausted from driving non-stop to reach here,_ thought Sam.

An in-depth discussion about his findings would have to wait until Dean woke up, and Sam was in no hurry to wake his brother. He took a cursory glance at the room, almost identical to his own albeit with a brown color scheme. He found the weapons bag and Dean's duffel on the floor next to the bed. Taking extra care not to disturb Dean's sleep, he heaved himself up to the other side of the bed – a carbon copy of the one in his own room – and leaned his head against the headboard, intending to further his reading of the papers that he had gathered. That way, he could summarize his findings to Dean and they could start gathering further physical clues to the current haunting as soon as they could.

Feeling pleased with himself, he started reading.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

_Images of black and red and pain and is that blood on his hands and oh my god can the screaming stop already… _

Dean sat up on the bed, panting, the remnants of a nightmare already fading away even as he tried to stay awake. For a moment he forgot where he was, until he turned and saw Sam sleeping sitting up beside him, papers strewn over his lap and head tilted up and to the left. His mouth was slightly open and there was a tiny sound of huffing as he breathed out. He looked peaceful, for once.

_Should I wake him up? Nah. He'll wake up on his own soon enough._

The drive must have taken more of a toll on him than he'd thought; he had meant to rest his eyes for just a second. He checked the time on the digital clock on the desk beside the bed, and noted he had lost an hour sleeping. Another hour before they were 'summoned' to dinner. Dean was looking forward to that. He was curious to know if the rich ate the same type of food as they did.

"What time is it?" The voice behind his back was rough, heavy with sleep still.

"Almost six. Did you know you have your own bed? Or your own room, for that matter."

Sam yawned and set about straightening his long joints. He looked like a cat after a nap.

Dean smiled at the comparison. His brother did have slanted eyes. Or was it puppy-dog eyes?

"I didn't mean to fall asleep when I came in here. And anyway, you were asleep too." Sam sounded chastised and chiding at the same time.

Dean swung out of bed and reached down to pick both bags from the floor. He tossed the weapons bag onto the bed and unzipped his own duffel.

"So don't keep me in suspense. What do you have?"

He could hear the rustling of papers. "Okay, from what I could find in the town hall, there's nothing on the land itself. The Miccosukee tribes were the first people here, but there's nothing to suggest that this particular land was sacred or dangerous. The land history is clean, dates back to the 1800's. It was just mostly swamps and nothing else, before construction set in and all these houses were built."

"Any legends about spirits, or any war or fights in this area, like that one in Oklahoma?"

Sam shook his head, looking troubled. "Nothing at all. There're no fights or any type of war, no blood spilled. The Miccosukee tribe owned the land but their main camps weren't placed anywhere near here. It was mainly used for hunting or washing or gathering water and food, I think. The tribe used a spring nearby for the washing and collecting water."

Dean began spilling out his clothes from the bag and onto the bed. "Uh-huh. Anything about the previous owners of the land before George took over, or the house itself?"

"Nope. The land was just left as it was until the developer decided to raze the entire area and divide the land up to sell for private property. George Frances bought the area about twenty-five years ago and built everything from ground up. He was the first and current owner. Nothing ghastly or ghostly had happened so far."

"Until now."

Sam nodded. "Until now."

Finally, Dean unearthed a white button-down shirt from the bottom of the bag. He sniffed at it. It didn't smell bad, so he figured that he could use that for dinner later on.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Sam's forehead wrinkled, looking puzzled.

"I'm doing the smell test. I don't really want to come down to dinner with a smelly shirt."

"Since when are you bothered enough to make a good impression for dinner?"

"I'm not going out of my way, dude. It's just good courtesy."

Sam was still looking puzzled, but now he was smiling, in the 'I think you are adorable and I am just humoring you' kind of way. Dean usually hated that smile, but at that moment the smile warmed his heart.

"You know what'll be more impressive? If you don't eat like you've been starved for a week."

Dean wasn't even insulted by the slur on his table manners, but he made the appropriate face and smacked Sam's leg that was nearest. "Whatever, man. What did you find about the family?"

Sam started going through the papers on the bed.

"Not much, I didn't have time to go deeper. George Frances is an architect, like he said. He has a company that he started up with a Damian Trent. From what I got, their company, HouseArt, is pretty well-respected, and has won several design awards. His wife, Sharon Frances, died about three years ago due to a stroke. She was a nurse at Saint Mary Medical Center before marrying George. She continued working after their marriage, but she stopped working right after the son was born. I haven't got hold of any medical records or a death certificate, but there wasn't any reason to suggest the death wasn't natural. Trinity, the eldest one, is nineteen, studying journalism in at the University of Georgia. Skylar's fourteen, studying at Berkeley Prep School."

"Can't you get anything through Facebook? I thought you can find out all kinds of things from that site if you know how to look."

"Just basic information and photos, at least the daughter has posted a lot of pictures. The son isn't too much into that I think, but that's about it. Trinity's profile has a link to her blog though. I'll take a look at it later, maybe it can tell us more."

Sam sounded frustrated, and Dean felt his amusement rise. His younger brother was personally affronted by the fact that his limited research had yielded nothing to help them.

"Trinity and Skylar? What happens to normal, simple names like Angela and Daniel, or Jane and Joe?" Dean said to distract his brother.

He could see amusement replacing Sam's indignation. "Rich people, man."

"Huh. So I suppose that's a license to go nuts on your children's names."

Sam teased. "I'm just glad that I wasn't named after a woman."

"Hey, Grandma was a badass, okay? She could kick Granddad's butt anytime."

"Sure, if you say so."

"But seriously, Trinity and Skylar? I feel sorry for the little guy already. Skylar sounds like a girl's name."

Sam grimaced and said, "Please don't make that kind of remark over dinner."

Dean snickered. "I'll be tactful. This would be one of the very few times that I'm going to be eating a rich man's food, so I'm going to savor that experience." He paused. "I wonder if they will serve caviar."

"You don't eat fish eggs, Dean."

"Tonight I will."

Sam just shook his head without replying. He started gathering the papers on the bed, to be put away until they could go through them again later on. Dean shook his own head this time upon seeing Sam meticulously arranging the papers in some mysterious order only known to him.

"I'm gonna go to my room now. To prepare to, you know, make a good impression."

Dean just flipped him off and turned back to collect his shaving kit.

"Oh, Dean. Are you going to let Castiel know where we are?"

The question was a valid one, but for some reason, Dean hesitated before replying. Ever since the whole fiasco with Jo and Ellen, he could feel Castiel's faith and zest giving way to something else, something much deeper and darker. If he didn't know any better, he would say that the fallen angel was giving in bit by bit to rage and despair. He hadn't asked, and truth be told, he was afraid of the answer.

"I'll let him know after dinner, just a precaution, but I'm pretty sure that's unnecessary. He isn't needed here anyway. We can handle some pansy spirits by ourselves."

Sam just hummed in agreement and closed the door behind him.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

There wasn't any caviar at dinner, not that Dean looked too disappointed, and Sam wasn't sorry for him.

Sam did feel slightly sorry for Skylar when they were introduced, though. He was a short, skinny boy who had his father's features but none of his friendliness. Smartly dressed in black pants and a pale blue collared shirt, he seemed quiet and didn't speak until directly spoken to, and even then his voice was soft and uncertain. He had his entire head down almost throughout the entire meal, although Sam caught him peeking at Dean a couple of times from under his bangs. Sam wasn't sure if Dean realized that he was being watched, but Sam wouldn't put it past him to be aware. Skylar might have thought he was being discreet, but Sam had plenty of practice himself stealing glances through his mop of hair, and getting caught for it.

Trinity was a little more talkative than her brother, which wasn't saying much. She must had gotten her looks from her mother, dark hair coupled with blue eyes and a gaze that, for some reason, reminded him strongly of Castiel. She was wearing a dark blue dress and was doing her best to give more interesting answers than her younger brother, but more often than not she would trail off into awkward silence. Sam noticed her smiling once at one of her father's weak jokes, and it transformed her whole face from solemn to charming.

If the Frances siblings were color coordinated, so were the Winchester brothers, although not by any deliberate means. Black slacks and white buttoned-down shirts were the only things that they had that went in the category of 'formal casual".

There was another guest at their dinner that evening, a British professor by the name of Susanna Lewis. She looked to be about forty years of age, prim and attractive in a bookish sort of way. Her speech was really stiff and formal, even with the Frances family, and more so with the brothers. She was wearing a knee-length flower-printed dress with ruffles by her neckline. Looking at her, Sam was reminded of a quieter, less charming Mary Poppins.

The dining room was more than what Sam expected. He wasn't surprised by the size of it; it made sense that a house that big would have a correspondingly large dining area. What he didn't expect was how homey the room felt. He'd expected the room to be big, and unfriendly and formal. Instead, he was greeted with a dining table that seated eight people comfortably, recipes of desserts framed along the wall, display shelves housing a collection of shot glasses from around the world. The fireplace burned merrily, casting a soft orange glow to the room. Their food was brought from the kitchen by the cook and her helper and he was certain he had never had such a meal before.

Dean initially looked impressed at the sight of the appetizers. Pepperoni and Asiago cheese pinwheels, George announced to everyone on the table as it was brought in. The servings were small but numerous, and they were delicious. Sam caught Dean trying to stuff two of them at one go and had to hide his smile.

However, his older brother didn't look as happy at the butternut-squash soup and Sam noticed that his enthusiasm deflated further when they brought in the main course of Veal scaloppini with leeks and wild mushroom cream sauce; "My favorite," George informed them happily. Sam managed to step on Dean's toes in an unspoken warning when he saw his brother opening his mouth to make a comment. Dean glared at him but Sam just smiled pointedly at the meal in front of him. Silently warned, Dean subsided and even managed a grimace and nod when George urged him to taste the veal. Sam had let out a laugh that turned promptly into a pained cough when it was his toes' turn to get stepped onto.

Sam gave him an approving nod when he saw that Dean had managed to consume the food without outward gagging or making a face.

Dessert was a slice of chocolate silk pie, which delighted Dean to no end. The room had subsided into silence as they enjoyed the pie, and seeing Dean almost making out with his own dessert brought a wistful smile on Sam's face, thinking that it had been a while that he'd Dean taking a vested interest and enjoyment in his pie.

"So, Sam, Dean, you mentioned that you were family friends with George?" Dr. Lewis' crisp accent brought him back from his mental observation.

Sam forced a smile. "Yes, our parents are friends, but we lost touch when we moved. We met a couple of months back, and when he found out we're doing some history research for this area, for our work, he invited us to come visit. So here we are."

George came up with the cover story on the way to dinner, right after he showed Dean where to park the car. He confessed that he hadn't told Trinity or Skylar the real reason they were there, although he had told his daughter he'd found help for her. Dr. Lewis – Susanna – was unaware of what had been happening, so any discussion of the strange occurrences would have to wait until after dinner.

Sam and Dean agreed, the fewer people who knew why they were there, the better. Besides, they didn't think a professor of Biology would believe them if they started talking about poltergeists or spirits or anything relating to the supernatural. Scientists rarely did.

Anyway, what he had just told her had been true. Technically.

"So George, I've been dying to know, what's with the creepy gate at the front?" Dean asked around a mouthful of pie.

George barked out a laugh. "It's cool right? I went to England a few years ago on a business trip and I visited one of the soccer stadiums and right there was this enormous gate that said 'You'll never walk alone", and it was creepy seeing that in the winter evening with hardly anyone around, let me tell you that. But it was also beautifully haunting, the whole setup, and as soon as I reached back here, I got on the phone with one of my contractors who got me in touch with a specialist that could make one like that, with my own saying."

Dean grinned. "It was creepy all right, especially when you put decided to use Latin instead of English. It gives off the Dr. Frankenstein vibe. Sam here was urging me to just drive away as soon as humanly possible from there."

"Hey!" Sam couldn't believe his brother. "Stop making things up. You were the one who could barely wait for the gate to open before zooming out of there."

Trinity piped in with a shy smile. "Do you know Latin too, Sam?"

Sam's smile was more genuine now. "Both of us do, but only a few phrases."

"The motto above the gate was coined by Rene Descartes in 1637. He was a respected mathematician and a philosopher, hardly a fictional madman like Frankenstein." Dr. Lewis sounded livid about Dean cheerfully lumping both men together in the same category.

Actually, now that Sam thought about it, she sounded more bitchy than angry, possibly thinking that Dean was a moron who didn't know anything. It was a veiled insult to Dean, and Sam wouldn't stand for it.

Sam opened his mouth to dispute the statement, in a diplomatic way hopefully, but Dean beat him to it.

"I'm not going to argue the fictional part, but Descartes was also interested in how the mind and body works as a whole and separately, and practiced vivisection on live animals to test his theories. Sounds like Frankenstein to me."

_Wow, where and how did Dean get the info from, and why am I not really surprised that he knows that?_

Dr. Lewis closed her mouth abruptly, her mouth set in a thin line and her head nodded, which Sam took as a sign of grudging respect. He shot a quick grin at Dean even as he saw George choking in his napkin, presumably hiding his laughter. It was entirely plausible that very few people had the cheek to argue with her, but then, she hadn't met Dean before.

Dean grinned back and switched his attentions to Skylar.

"Sky, my man, have you read Frankenstein yet?"

The boy widened his eyes and nodded and then went back to staring at his pie, his face flushing slightly.

"I'm curious, are both of you historians? And why have you focused on this area for your research? I don't recall anything of note happening around here," Dr. Lewis switched directions, her tone curious.

George cut in with a nervous laugh. "Come on, Sue, they're not specimens for you to study and catalog. Why are you asking so many questions?"

"No, no, it's okay. We're not historians, more like researchers. We research all kinds of stuff. At the moment we're looking into the history of the Native American tribes that once lived in this area."

Susanna narrowed her eyes, and Sam could see that she didn't quite believe him. He geared himself for another probing question, when Skylar cut into the conversation.

"Dad, I'm done with dessert. Can I show Dean my Star Wars collection now?"

Earlier during dinner, George had revealed that his son had an impressive collection of Star Wars figurines. Dean had responded with real enthusiasm, saying it was a cool hobby for a boy his age. Skylar had blushed, splotchy red, pleased at the compliment.

George smiled fondly at his son. "Sure, if Dean has finished his dessert, and doesn't mind."

"I don't mind!" exclaimed Dean. "I love Star Wars."

Sam turned to see his brother stuffing the last piece of pie into his mouth, wiping his mouth with his napkin, and standing up, pushing his chair back. He met Sam's eyes, and the younger Winchester could see that his response was calculated.

"Come on, Sky, show me this collection of yours. See you later, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes at the nickname and heard a small giggle coming from Trinity. He nodded to his brother, who was already walking with Skylar at his side, out of the dining room. That meant that he was stuck with getting information out of the rest of the family, but honestly Sam didn't mind. He knew that Dean could get more out of the boy than he could.

Turning back to the group still at the table, Sam gave a shrug. "Older brothers."

"That was fast. The pie was served only five minutes ago," Dr. Lewis remarked.

"Dean has magical powers when it comes to pie. Two minutes in front of one and it disappears like magic."

George chuckled in understanding, Trinity giggled once more and the even Dr. Lewis cracked a faint smile.

_Time to do some actual work._ Sam turned to his host. "So, George, your house has such a great view. How did you manage to get such a great location?"

***SnSnSnSnSn***

The trip to the Collection Room was short, a simple left from the dining room and a right, and there they were. The room itself was full of toys, mini plastic furniture meant for children, Barbies still in their plastic casings, remote control cars in various stages of assembly, and Dean even spotted several stuffed toys.

Skylar's Star Wars collection was impressive indeed. Most of them were collectors' items, still in their individual boxes and plastic wraps. The majority of them were the figures of the characters, different versions of Luke Skywalker, Yoda, Han Solo and the likes. All of them were neatly lined in tall display cases lining two walls of the room, and there was no dust on them. Dean particularly admired a Yoda with a light saber. That little dude looked cool.

"Sweet, but where are the ones that you played with? We could have an intergalactic battle right now!"

Skylar shook his head. "I don't play with them. They are collectors' items. You are supposed to keep them in mint condition so that they could be sold and then you can make money off them."

That's cold, logical sense, but one of the saddest things he'd ever heard. And he guessed it explained some of the Barbies, which must have been Trinity's collection.

Dean soldiered on. "Okay, so where are the ones that you do play with?"

Skylar shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have any. Just these ones."

"And you've never played with them? Ever?"

Another shake of the head.

"Oh. Huh. Okay. So, what do you do play with? Light sabers? We could spar against each other."

Skylar's face lit up, and he rushed over to an honest to goodness wooden toy chest at the corner of the room and lifted the lid up to rummage in it,. Dean could see several wooden swords and a motorcycle helmet before Skylar straightened up with two light sabers, one for each of them. Dean grinned at the sight of the two toy weapons.

Fifteen minutes later they collapsed on the couch, out of breath from sparring with each other non-stop. Dean had been impressed with the skills that the boy had displayed. Granted, Dean was much better than he was when he was fourteen, but he was glad to know that despite the girlish name and the shy demeanor, Skylar wasn't a total introvert like he'd feared.

"Dad doesn't play much with me anymore." Sklyar's quiet confession was out of left field. Dean could hear an unconscious accusation laced with sadness and resignation within the words.

An echo of the same words in Sam's young voice, resonated Dean's mind, so long ago, when he was still young enough to enjoy his playtime and not have the weight of the world on his shoulders. He closed his eyes for a second and he could see Sam's innocent face behind his eyelids. He opened his eyes and shook his head to dispel the vision.

"Well, he has to work. Sometimes he might forget. You should remind him that all work and no play make Daddy a dull boy."

Skylar laughed softly at the paraphrase, and then his face grew solemn again.

"Sometimes Trin plays with me, but now that she's gone to school so far away we rarely talk anymore. Especially now, since the…" he stopped abruptly.

That was the opening that Dean needed.

"I heard that some things had been happening recently. Some scary things." Dean left the statement wide open for Skylar and waited.

The boy's eyes widened and his next words were just above a whisper. "How did you know about that?" There was a pause, and Dean could practically see the lightbulb moment. "Is that why you are here? To help us?"

Dean nodded, a silent invitation for the boy to continue. Skylar didn't disappoint.

"I don't really know much, since Trin doesn't say anything much to me. She thinks I need to be protected from the scary stuff. She doesn't talk much at all anymore."

Dean nodded. Skylar was very close to his sister, if the sadness on his face was anything to go by.

"The first time something happened, it was about a month ago. It was after dinner, around eight or nine? I was in my room and she was in hers. Dad was in his study, I think, on the other side of the house. I heard some thumping, but I didn't think too much about it, she's always doing some room makeover whenever she's home. The noise stopped after about five minutes and it was quiet. Then Trin started screaming. It was so loud I rushed out of my room and went to her door and knocked but she wasn't opening it and she kept on screaming.

Skylar looked miserable. Dean watched him shake off the memory and he continued.

"The door was locked and I couldn't open it. I had my cell with me so I called my Dad and he rushed over. Then he tried opening it, but he couldn't. Trin was still screaming and I was so scared. Dad finally managed to kick the door down, and he told me to stay out of the room. He came back out carrying Trin and she was hysterical. There were these long scratch marks on her arms. Dad then drove all of us to the hospital."

Skylar stopped and took a deep breath. Dean noticed that he looked pale, and when the boy tilted his head up to meet Dean's eyes, he could see fear clouding the blue irises. Dean nodded at Skylar, indicating that he had heard the boy's words, and that he should continue on the rest of the story. Skylar must have recognized the unspoken prompt, because he swallowed hard and continued with the story.

"We stayed in the hospital for three days, didn't even go home at all. The doctor stitched the scratches on her arms, and because she was still sobbing and screaming, decided to keep her sedated and in the hospital. Dad got Dr. Lewis to bring clothes to the hospital, for all three of us, and me and Dad stayed with Trin in the room the whole time. Three days later, we came home."

"Did anything unusual happen while you were in the hospital?"

Skylar shook his head. "Nothing happened that wasn't hospital stuff. That was weird."

"Did your sister say anything about what happened in her room? Or your Dad, did he say anything?"

Again, Skylar shook his head, his face troubled. Dean winced internally, knowing it wasn't the kid's fault but thinking that he could've been more attentive so that they could solve the case quickly and move on.

"So, did anything else happen after she came back home from the hospital?"

"Trin didn't want to set foot inside her room, so she slept in the guest room and had her things moved there. The guest room had two beds so both of us slept in the same room for the first week because she was scared to sleep alone. Nothing happened, but after a week she wanted to go back, saying that she didn't want to be scared out of her own room. Nothing happened for about a week after that, so everyone just relaxed, and even Trin was convinced she must have hurt herself.

"The second time round, I heard the screams right after 1 a.m, when I was about to drop off to sleep. It was the same thing. The door was locked, and I couldn't get it open. My dad came over much faster this time, because he could hear her over the monitor that he installed in her room. It took him three tries to get the door open, and this time, both of us went in. Trin was at lying near the bathroom door, gasping for breath. Dad picked her up and carried her out."

"Was it as bad as the first time?"

Skylar shook his head. At the rate he was going, his head was going to drop off from shaking it so much.

"It was worse. We stayed at the hospital for a week this time, since it was summer holidays and neither of us had to go back to school. I think both Dad and the doctor got worried that she might be harming herself, they even scheduled a psychiatrist session for her when she was there. But Trin got into a shouting match with Dad when the doctor left after the first session, and he decided not to continue with it. There's nothing that either of them could do to make her change her mind, since legally, she's eighteen now. I just stayed out of it."

Skylar stopped his monologue and stared at Dean, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "Can I tell you something that I haven't told my Dad yet?"

Dean nodded, intrigued.

"Dad doesn't know this, but Trin showed me the marks on her stomach recently. They were even longer and jagged than the marks on her arms, and they looked like they were made by something with claws. You can barely see them anymore, the marks on her arms have faded somewhat, but the claw marks on her stomach went deeper and they are still there."

Dean flashed back to the times when he got 'scratched' by some supernatural creatures. There were those shadow gods with Meg, the yellow-eyed demon in Dad's body, the chicks that the Trickster, or more accurately, the archangel Gabriel, conjured up during the stint near the campus. More recently, Sam had left little grazes along Dean's neck when he tried to choke him when they fought in the hotel room.

Those were _not_ fun times.

He turned his attention back to the fourteen year old and asked a follow-up question for clarification.

"So, your sister was attacked twice in her old room, but not anywhere else?"

Skylar pondered that question for a while, hand playing absently with the light saber in his right hand.

After about a minute, he nodded his head slowly.

"I think there were a couple of other things that happened before the attacks began, but they were minor, not like the other two. She mentioned to me that one morning she must have rolled over and hit her body on her nightstand or her bed post or something, because she woke up with black and blue marks all over her body. Another time she came over to my room in the middle of the night because she couldn't sleep. She said that she kept hearing whistling in her own room, but she couldn't find anything that made the noise. Are those attacks as well?"

Dean concurred with the idea, tilting his head to Skylar as a sign of agreement. He was about to suggest they go back to the dining room, but then Skylar opened his mouth, apparently not finished with the story.

"Dad made us move closer to his room after the attacks, and he hired Lela, the assistant housekeeper, and she sleeps in the dressing room in Trin's bedroom. There's been no attack ever since."

Dean thought through that information. The attacks might be tied to the place, Trin's bedroom, since all the attacks took place at one location. He and Sam might be able to do some recon of the place, and maybe use the newly-repaired EMF detector to determine what might be the cause of all the mayhem. He changed his mind about heading back to the dining area.

"Can you show me where your old bedrooms were, Skylar?" It was better than wandering the hallways by themselves. They most probably would find themselves going in circles and losing precious time.

The boy in question looked at him a little strangely.

"Didn't Dad tell you? He converted both our rooms into guest rooms about five days ago. You and Sam are staying in them now."

***SnSnSnSnSn***

So, is it suspenseful enough? :)

Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be up tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So, I guess when I said 'tomorrow' I really meant 'the next few days'. This bit was harder to edit, because I went through line by line, and there were just so many things. I'm clearly dysfunctional somewhere.

Anyhow, enjoy.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Sam opened the door to his room to find Dean lying down on his huge, fluffy-looking bed, four buttons undone on his shirt and his arms crossed over his chest. He was honestly surprised to find him there, as he thought that Dean and Skylar would be bonding for hours over Star Wars movies and/or toys. Or maybe going over the pleasing assets of Princess Leia while debating who was cooler, Han Solo or Yoda.

Personally, he preferred Obi-Wan, but he wasn't going to get into _that_ argument.

"Dude, you are late."

Dean's voice was whiskey rough, even though they didn't imbibe this evening. Sam noticed that Dean's eyes were half shut, signs pointing out that Dean might have dozed off while waiting for his brother to return to his room.

"I couldn't find the EMF meters. Either of them." Dean continued, clearing his throat and sitting up.

Sam reached into his pocket and took out the EMF meter that Dean had spent two hours repairing on last week, and tossed it onto the bedspread.

"I took it from the trunk just before you parked the car in the garage. Yours was smaller, so I left mine in the backseat of the car. We can pick it up tomorrow morning."

Dean reached out to grab the device. He threw a questioning look at Sam.

"Did you get a reading anywhere?"

Sam shook his head as he walked towards his own duffel at the foot of the bed.

"I scanned the dining room, the library where George took us to after dinner to show off his enormous collection, and the hallway around those areas. Nothing even pinged, so I just switched it off."

"Well, I think there might be a place where we might get a reading," Dean announced as he turned the switch on.

Immediately a humming sound emitted from the equipment. Lights flashed from the bulbs above the EMF meter.

Sam was not surprised. His brother must have talked to Skylar and uncovered something crucial in the case.

"What did you find out from your bonding over Star Wars dolls?"

Dean stood up, making a slow turn around the room while holding the meter in his hands. The humming grew steadily louder and the lights flashed more wildly. Dean was wearing a focused look on his face, and if Sam was a stranger, he would have thought that Dean was holding the answer to all his questions in his hands right at that moment.

"_Action figures,_ Sam, and they're not for playing. They are only for us to ooh and aah over through the glass and the boxes. But the light sabers! The light sabers are cool, man."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's geekiness. "Can we just focus please? What did you get from Skylar?"

Sam noticed that the vicinity of the bathroom was getting higher readings just as Dean finished his circuit of the room and switched the EMF meter off.

He turned, and Sam could see whatever concentration that was there had faded off to just plain fatigue. His brother suddenly looked far older than his than his thirty-one years.

"Guess what? This room used to be the daughter's room, where the attacks took place. Trinity, or Trin, as Sky called her, got clawed both times in this very room. After the second attack, George decided that he should move his two children's rooms closer to his. These rooms, I'm guessing, were changed into the guest rooms after he hired us. I'm not sure if he meant it as an insult or to make our work easier."

Sam had a lightbulb moment right then. _So that's what that expression on his face was about, when he showed us the rooms. _

"I think it was a test"

"A test for what? To show how competent we are? What a douche."

Sam shrugged. He didn't think it was malicious intent on George's part, though good luck telling that to his brother.

"Anything else?"

"Only that Skylar thinks that there were minor attacks to his sister leading to the big ones. There were pinches, light scratches, whistling, but no one took notice until the whole thing turned serious."

Sam pursed his lips in thought, adding Dean's information to what he'd found out during the conversation after dinner. George had almost slipped and let Dr Lewis know what the Winchesters were really doing. Sam didn't think she'd caught on, but as long as she wasn't in the house and she wasn't actively trying to impede their investigation, he couldn't care less what she thought of them.

"I didn't speak to Trinity, she left right about five minutes right after you guys. George said that he would bring her to talk to us later. I managed to find out a little about the property, though. He'd bought the land cheap, after realizing the potential of the land before the other developers did, and built and designed the house. Everything in the house was brand new, nothing inherited or bought second hand. He had the house blessed by a priest right before he moved in, and again when he got married to his wife, two years later. Nothing supernatural or any strange things happened before this."

"That syncs with what you found out at the town hall. Did you ask in that roundabout way of yours if he'd bought anything new in the last month or so for the house?"

"It's called being tactful, not roundabout, and yes, I did. He hadn't bought anything for the house or for himself apart from groceries for the last two months or so, and to the best of his knowledge, neither did his daughter."

"Sky said the same thing. You would think that they would buy new things every day, being rich and all that."

"Being rich doesn't mean you should spend your money unnecessarily, Dean."

"Yeah, but it could." Dean had an unfocused look on his face, possibly dreaming about what he would do if he was rich.

_He'd probably spent a large portion of it on the car or girls._

Sam sighed. They were drifting off topic again. He scrubbed his face with his hands, impatient and weary. Both of them were tired from the long drive, even with the nap that they had taken unexpectedly that afternoon. He briefly wondered if they could wait until tomorrow to talk to George and Trinity, but he also knew that both of them would prefer as much information as possible before they proceeded.

_Not that it ever stopped us even if we had zero info. _

A knock on the door halted their conversation. Dean looked at Sam who mouthed George before opening the door to his room. In his peripheral vision, Dean stuffed the EF meter under his pillows. Sam frowned, a silent _why'd you do that for,_ and Dean rolled his eyes in answer, _not now._

George and Trinity were standing in front of the door. George was still wearing his dinner clothes, while his daughter had changed to sleep pants and a t-shirt. He smiled at both of them and beckoned at them to follow him. Trinity stood silently by his side.

"We can talk in the lounge. This way."

He led them along the corridor, turning left and the cramped alleyway opened up into a room furnished with two long couches, a large flat screen television mounted on the wall and several fur rugs gracing the floors.

_Wow, and I thought that the flat screen in my room was big._

"Here. I asked Lela earlier to send in some coffee for us while we talked," he gestured to a tray filled with coffee cups and a pot, sitting tight by the tables in front of the television. They seated themselves on the couches, the brothers taking one while the father-daughter team sat on the other.

Sam took the lead while Dean practically inhaled the coffee.

"So Trinity, can you start at the beginning? We've heard bits and pieces, but I think the big picture will help us better." He employed the earnest expression that he used for getting what he wanted.

George looked at his daughter. She looked back at him. Sam sensed some silent discussion going on, George's face lined in concern and encouragement while Trinity's in worry and controlled fear, and then the nineteen year old faced both Winchesters.

"Are you really going to help us with this problem? Can you actually find a solution to it?" She sounded intense, wary, but with an undercurrent of hope. It was pretty clear that she was looking for reassurance, that somehow, these strangers would make everything alright again and then they could go back to everything was normal.

Sam got that look a lot.

"We will try our best." He didn't want to lie, but he didn't want to give them any false hope either.

Trinity looked pleased with the answer, her mouth lifting into a tiny smile. The smile vanished a second later and Sam saw her scratch her left wrist in an absent gesture, before she swallowed and started her story.

"I'm not sure if there's anything much that I can tell you. I was in the room both times I was attacked. They were almost similar. I was getting ready for bed, about to go to sleep, when I sensed something in the room with me, and a second later I felt something scratching me. I screamed, tried to get out of bed and run to the door, but there was something pulling me back. I couldn't get near the door. And then I would feel out of breath, like my air supply was being cut off.

"Dad said both times he found me on the floor near the door of the bathroom, crying, but honestly, I can't remember that at all. I only remembered being suffocated, and then the next thing I remember is being in the hospital. That's it."

Trinity concluded her story by reaching for the coffee cup on the table. Sam could see her hands trembling slightly around the china. Her father pulled her into a one-armed hug and kissed her forehead, in an effort to reassure her. He seemed to need it as much as Trinity did. She huddled against him, seeking silent comfort.

George turned to the brothers, took a deep breath, and started his own version without any prompting from them.

"I'm going to start with what I know. About a month ago, in the middle of the night, I got a call from Skylar, shouting hysterically to come to Trin's room, saying that she was screaming and he couldn't open the door. I rushed from my study, and found him in front of Trinity's room, rattling the door knob and kicking the door but it just wouldn't budge. You've seen him, he's young, not very strong, so I took over, kicking the door several times until it swung open. I told Skylar to stay outside and went in and I found Trin on the floor, sobbing. I saw nothing and no one else in the room, but I noticed the bleeding marks on her arms. I rushed to her, picked her up and got her out of the room.

"I drove all three of us to the hospital, and she got a total of twenty-four stitches on her arms. She was still hysterical, so the doctor had to sedate her, and while she was asleep, the doctor spoke to me about the possibility of self-inflicted wounds. He said that he noticed that the marks were made by fingernails, and considering that she was so worked up when we brought her in, he thought that she might be having a breakdown of some sort, maybe due to stress at school or at home."

Dean cut in at this point. "Were you facing problems at school at that time, Trinity?"

The dark-haired girl shook her head. "I wasn't even having exams, they were already over. It was the summer holidays."

George cut in. "If she had, she would have told me. All of us are close, even closer now that their mother's gone."

Sam noticed that the older man was beginning to fidget, a clear indication that he wasn't at ease with the direction of the conversation, and he sought to reassure him. "We're just exploring other possibilities. Please, carry on."

"Right. When we came home from the hospital Trin refused to sleep in her room, so I went with her to pick up whatever she needed and she slept in one of the guest bedrooms closer to my room. I guess that Skylar was also feeling a little insecure about the whole thing, because he took to sleeping in the same room for a week, and when Trin decided to move back into her own room he slept on her couch for three days. When Trin finally chased me and Skylar away from her room, she was attacked the same night. It was her stomach this time.

"When I brought her back to the hospital the second time in two weeks, the doctor thought that Trin had another 'episode' and pressured me to admit her to a session with the hospital psychiatrist. I thought that it might be good for Trin, and give me some peace of mind at the same time, so I caved in and scheduled a session with a Dr. Rogers, a private psychiatrist working in the city. She came in to visit Trin two days into her hospital stay. Trin was caught off guard, and she wasn't happy."

"That's putting it mildly. I threw a terrible tantrum." Trinity interrupted, a flush to her cheeks. Sam noticed she was scratching her left wrist again, like a nervous tic.

"As soon as the psychiatrist left, I called Dad in and told him that I'm over eighteen, that I'm not a kid anymore, and that I'm never going to talk to a shrink who didn't believe anything I said. I threatened to sign myself out AMA if Dr. Rogers returned."

At that point George jumped in. "Call it fate, karma, whatever, but when I received a call from Donna about a week ago it was like a sign. I opened up to her, talking about the attacks, and asked if she could talk to her, maybe see if Trin would open up to her."

"I didn't want to talk to her. Actually I didn't want to do anything, but I especially didn't want to talk about anything that has to do with the attacks. I thought I was losing my mind, and I didn't want anyone else to know."

"That was when she told me about what happened to her daughter. She told me that there are two people whom she knows, whom she trusts, that helped her with the problem. I begged for your number, and after two days of tossing and turning about it, I made the call. And now, here we are."

George ended his speech, visibly taking a deep breath and using the moment to pick up his own cup of coffee which was untouched, unconsciously mimicking his daughter's action a few minutes ago. Sam understood his need for a moment to pull himself together. As he waited for George to calm down, Sam thought of the list of questions that had been building in his mind ever since Trinity started her story.

"George, have you ever thought about installing cameras inside the house? It's a pretty big place." That was an understatement.

"There are security cameras all over the outside of the house, but the only ones in the house are the cameras in the main living room, the main dining room and the lounges. I'm very private, and I treat my guests the same way, so there aren't any cameras in the rooms in this wing, don't worry. The feed is linked to the security company's drive, not in this house."

Dean had a frown on his face. "No cameras in your daughter's room, even after the attacks? I mean, it's for her own safety."

"She might be my daughter, Dean, but she is an adult. I offered to put a camera in her room, even as far as promising her that only I would have access to the footage, but she refused, so we compromised with the audio monitor in her room. Now, since my children's rooms are near mine, it's so much easier to check on them, just by knocking on their doors."

"Did you take a look at the videos on the nights of the attacks?"

"I did. There was nothing, everything was fine. Nothing was out of place. I went through the whole footage myself, and I hired a security detail just to go through the property with a fine toothed comb. I did everything I could, and yet I still feel as though I must've missed something."

Sam hadn't looked at the tapes yet, but he was certain that there was nothing to be seen. Normal civilians were not trained to look for something supernatural in video tapes, or in anything else for that matter.

"Do you think we could have a copy of the tapes?"

George waved a hand. "I'll pass it to you tomorrow morning, and you can use the DVD player in your room to look at it. Now, is there anything else? We're both tired and honestly, I just want to go to bed."

"Yeah, I do. Why did you give us your children's previous rooms?" Dean was at his usual bluntness.

Surprisingly, George cracked a smile at that question. He didn't look offended at all, merely amused, and Sam thought there was a little respect in that smile. Sam was right then. It was a test, and they had passed.

"That was fast. I thought you wouldn't find out until tomorrow, but I guess Skylar told you about it?" The question was directed to Dean.

Dean just stared, his poker face revealing nothing.

"To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure about the both of you. I'm not sure if you are really 'paranormal investigators' as Donna claimed, or charlatans looking to make a quick buck that got lucky on her case. Treat it as a test. Uncovering that fact, that goes a long way in me having more faith in your abilities."

"Aren't you afraid of whatever it is getting to us?" Dean groused, his face unhappy with George's statement. Sam was heading towards unhappy himself. They hated being used by anyone, even if it was the client, even if he had a good reason for doing so.

George laughed out loud at that. "It didn't get to me or my son. Believe me, I slept in her old room by myself after the second attack, for two whole days, and nothing happened. Besides, if what I had suspected is correct, that it's targeting my family, I doubt it will disturb a total stranger. And anyway," he continued, his face sobering, "if you're really fraudsters, rest assured that I have enough clout with the local police force to put you away for a long while."

"Dad!" Trinity was horrified at that very frank statement.

George stood up, grabbed his daughter's hand, and faced the Winchesters. "Have a good night, gentlemen. Sleep well."

With that, he stood up and left, not giving them a chance to respond.

There was a loaded pause. Sam was more confused than bothered. Dean, on the other hand, looked more annoyed than confused. His voice, when he spoke, reflected his emotions.

"Wow. Way to make an exit. Is that supposed to make me feel threatened? Because right now, all I'm feeling is pissed."

Sam just shrugged. His older brother continued his rant.

"I mean, hell, after Zachariah and Lucifer, this doesn't even register on the threat scale. And what's with everyone just threatening us? Are we that threaten-able?"

Sam just stared at Dean. Dean noticed the stare.

"What? That's totally a word."

The younger Winchester just shook his head, part exasperated and part amused. "Right. Did you notice anything weird just now?"

Dean raised an eyebrow and said, "You mean the way Trinity keeps scratching her left wrist?"

"It looks like a reflex action, or some kind of a nervous tic."

"Think that maybe it's nothing supernatural and she was faking the whole thing?"

Sam shrugged. "Who knows? Let's go back to our rooms. I think both of us are way too exhausted to think clearly. Maybe a fresh eye tomorrow will help."

Dean stood up, and followed his brother towards the directions of their rooms.

"You know that we are bunking together right? There's no way that I'm letting you sleep on your own in a room where supernatural attacks had taken place. In fact, right now, at this very moment, you can pack your bags and move into my room. The bed is big enough for the both of us even with your gigantic frame."

Sam knew that this was going to happen the moment Dean told him what Skylar had said. His brother might hide his concern behind gruff and bluster, but even after all they'd been through, there was no way that he would let his brother stay in a haunted room on his own.

"Don't you want us to stay there tonight, maybe the spirit or whatever it was will show itself?"

Dean shook his head. "Both of us need to sleep, and there's been no fresh attacks since he contacted us. I think whatever it was can wait."

"Fine. Do you want to follow me into my room, or do you think you could let me pack in peace?"

"Be quick about it. Whatever that thing is might mistake you for the teenage girl because of your hair. I don't want to defend your life just because you have an irrational fear of barbers."

Sam just rolled his eyes. _Yeah right, of course he wouldn't._

***SnSnSnSnSn***

_The screaming just won't stop and are his ears bleeding and who are these people tugging on his arms and legs, tearing them away from his body… _

Dean shot up on bed, breathing hard.

_This is getting predictable. And boring. Please tell me Gabriel is not repeating Mystery Spot in my dreams._

He stretched, exposing a sliver of skin when he pulled his shirt along with the movement, and looked at his brother, who was still sleeping soundly beside him, body curled inwards and arms stretching towards his side, as though searching for his older brother in his sleep.

He scratched his day-old stubble, and heaved a weary sigh. He didn't know why he was having these dreams. He hadn't had those since the Apocalypse started. It was as if his nightmares had spilled over into real-life and there was nothing else in his dreams that could haunt him while he was sleeping when reality itself was so much more frightening.

There was a possibility that something in the house was triggering the nightmares, but he didn't feel the creeps, and his instincts didn't scream at him to get out of there as soon as humanly possible.

_Maybe it was just the case getting to me._

He sneaked a peek at the time on his cell phone and realized that he hadn't given his personal rebel angel a call to let him know where they were. Castiel might be on mission searching for God, but he was also sticking close to them, keeping tabs on where and when their hunts would be.

Dean had made the mistake of not informing the angel on his whereabouts, leaving only a voice message after two weeks, and the day after that he woke up to the solemn face staring at him sleeping. For a whole day the angel had followed him everywhere, taken up to standing too close in his personal space, generally being a pain in his ass.

He learned _that_ lesson in a hurry.

Sighing, he formulated a plan. Bathroom first, and after he had showered and was feeling human enough, then he would call Castiel to let him know where they were, with a warning to not to just pop in here. This was a more or less a straight-forward case. There was no need to take up Cas' time when he had the more important job to do of finding his Father. No sarcasm intended.

With that vague plan in mind, he made his way to the bathroom, intent on repeating yesterday's moment of Heaven.

The bathroom held the usual fixtures, but aside of their enormous size that would even accommodate Sam, there wasn't anything noteworthy about it. The shower, on the other hand, was way better than excellent, or so Dean thought. The water pressure hit all the right spots on his body, and he had to stifle a loud groan at how good it felt, like little hands caressing his back and shoulders with just the right amount of pressure to make them unknot. When he'd showered the first time, he had turned the heat too high, and for the whole duration it never ran cold; today was no exception.

_Oh, the shower. If I'm Shakespeare I'll be writing sonnets about the shower._

Half an hour later, he exited the bathroom in a cloud of mist, shivering a little in the comparative cold of the room. Sam was already awake, hunched down at the desk, looking at his laptop with intense concentration, squinting his eyes a little.

"Your turn in the bathroom, Sam. Stop watching porn before breakfast." Dean's chuckle was muffled by the t-shirt he was putting on.

He heard Sam huff at the lewd joke. Turning, he saw Sam already moving out of the chair to ransack his duffel, probably searching for his shaving kits, preferring to use his own rather than the ones provided. His younger brother stomped past him, the pout on his face belying his sulky expression, and slammed the door closed behind him.

Dean grinned. He had taken the best shower ever, in the history of showers, and he'd managed to push his brother's buttons before breakfast.

The day was looking up.

Dean finished dressing and went over to the desk to look at his brother's research. The page on the laptop showed a picture of a spirit, what the author thought was a poltergeist. Dean snorted, thinking of all the poltergeists that he had encountered. None of them had been visible. The artist probably drew it out of his own imagination.

He sighed and moved away from the desk to begin the inevitable task of calling Castiel. He pressed the speed-dial number '3' on his phone and waited for the line to connect. It rang five times and Dean was almost hoping for the call to switch to voice mail to hear that ridiculous greeting that never failed to amuse him, when the call connected.

"Dean." The way Castiel enunciated his name was almost like a greeting.

"Cas." He used the nickname just to annoy the angel.

"Is there an emergency?"

"No emergency. I'm just calling to let you know where we are right now, in case you needed to find us. We're in Florida, hunting down what most probably is a poltergeist in a rich man's house." He didn't elaborate, wasn't sure if the angel wanted to know the details but suspecting that he didn't care for them.

"Can you give me the address of your current location?" The Enochian symbols that Castiel placed on their ribs made it impossible for him to track them down.

"Dude, I don't want you zapping yourself to here out of the blue and scaring the family." He didn't want their current client to find out about the existence of angels and the coming Apocalypse on top of his current worry for his daughter. From his experience, he knew that it wouldn't bode well for anyone. George's head might explode from the sheer magnitude of it.

"I understand. I would try to use the phone instead of making my way there." Castiel sounded persistent.

Dean sighed. He wasn't quite sure if Castiel understood whatever that he was trying to say, but he supposed he could just give him the benefit of the doubt and hoped that the angel wouldn't drop in there unannounced.

"We are at 37, Florida Drive. Please, please, let me know at least ten minutes in advance if you are planning to zap your way here to pick us up and then zap us back to nowhereland."

"I'll try my best Dean, but the other angels or demons would not really be considerate enough to let me know beforehand about their plan of attack."

"Is that a joke? You made a joke!"

Castiel hung up without answering, cutting short Dean's chuckle. Dean sighed, shaking his head in weary amusement even though he was feeling more disgruntled after the call. He mentally shrugged, and waited for his brother to finish showering so that they could go and find some breakfast. Hopefully they wouldn't get lost in this maze of hallways before he could consume some caffeine.

_I really should have asked George for a map to save ourselves some time._

Half an hour later, they entered the same dining room where they had their dinner the night before, without getting themselves lost. They found George sitting at the head of the dining table, and, to their surprise, Dr. Lewis as well. From what Sam had recounted to him about the night before, he had the impression that she didn't spend the night under the same roof as them.

"Good morning everyone." George threw a small smile at them.

_Perhaps Dr. Lewis managed to cheer him up in more ways than one,_ Dean smirked at that thought. He stayed away from the mental images, though. There wasn't a need to scar himself mentally.

Sam acknowledged the greeting, smiling to them while Dean tried for a grin but he suspected it didn't came out anywhere near there. He marched over to the side table where their breakfast was laid out, aiming for the coffee-maker first and foremost, and pouring himself a cup. After sipping it straight, he managed to mutter a return greeting to both the owner of the house and his other guest.

"Where are Skylar and Trinity?" Sam wanted to know.

"Oh, it's still early. They usually won't be up until noon on a Saturday," George said, his mouth full of egg.

Dean had forgotten that it was the weekend. It explained why George and Dr. Lewis were still lingering over breakfast. Gleaming silver chafing dishes sat on the sideboard, their lids pulled invitingly back. Eggs, pancakes, sticky buns and bacon beckoned him closer and he noticed the fruit and bread baskets as well, full of fruit and toasted bagels. There were several bottles of syrups to go with the pancakes. Jam and preserves sat in tiny bowls next to cream cheese, a tray of what Dean thought might be fish next to that, and sliced tomatoes, onions and cucumbers.

He began loading his plate, then looked over his shoulder at Sam who murmured, "Lox and kippers." He huffed out a laugh at Dean's inquiring eyebrow. "I don't think you'll like them."

Dean looked pointedly at Sam's plate. He was holding a much more restrained plate with a toasted bagel, cream cheese, some of the pink fish. He snorted. There were pancakes, and Sammy wasn't having any. He would never understand his brother.

They ate breakfast in silence, uncomfortable to discuss anything in front of the professor. Ten minutes in, the silence was broken by Dr. Lewis who smiled tentatively at them and asked what they had planned for that day. Dean didn't answer her, hoping Sammy would do the talking while he was stuffing his face.

"We are planning to do some research on the property, its layouts and history. We did some checks on the property deeds before coming over, and Dean is planning to walk the boundaries of the property, so we can familiarize ourselves with the geography of the place. We usually split up so that we can cover more ground. We get a better view of everything that way."

George readily agreed to the arrangement and called his groundskeeper, Brian, to let him know the Winchesters had his permission for the run of the grounds. He would be at their disposal should Dean wanted to know more about the property or the land. Dean took down his number. George told him Brian was always moving around, but more often, they could find him working near the south-west part of his property. He also volunteered the use of one of the golf carts that they used to get around the extensive grounds.

"That's a good idea, actually. I thought I would have to walk around the area, and then call Sam if I get lost." Dean was quite enthusiastic about the golf cart. He'd never ridden one, and from what he could see on television, it was a fun vehicle to drive.

Sam shot a mock glare at Dean. "You would call me, but don't think that I don't know you. You would call to get me out of the house and make me walk around looking for you, while you were drinking lemonade and staying out of the sun."

Dean grinned and shrugged.

Dr. Lewis leaned back and listened to their banter with a small smile, but not joining in. It was plain to Dean that she was trying to figure out the real reason they were doing there. Dean knew the historical researcher fiction was a thin cover, and she was an intelligent woman. Even as Dean replied to Sam, he wondered what she was planning for the day.

As if reading Dean's mind, Sam turned to her, including her in the conversation. "What will you be doing today, Dr Lewis?"

She put down the cup of tea that she'd been nursing ever since they arrived and smiled at Sam.

"George and I were planning to take the children for a drive down to the beach. I just closed on a property there, and I wanted to check out how the renovations are going. George was kind enough to draw up plans for the guest house. With you here, though, I'm not sure if we are still going, or if George would prefer to stay here."

George shook his head, his expression one of dismay.

"I completely forgot about the trip! I'm so sorry Sue. A lot has been in my mind lately."

"It's okay, George." Sam said, with a smile, "we'll be busy doing uh, all the mapping and uh, measuring, and all that. There's nothing you could help us with even if you are here."

Dean nodded in agreement, working very hard to look earnest, not quite sure if he'd succeed. If the family was out of the house, the staff would be more likely to answer questions frankly than they would with George in the room. He hoped George had let the house staff know they had carte blanche to go wherever they needed. It wasn't as if they'd be after the silver, after all.

If George had any reservations about them, he didn't show it. Judging by his relieved smile, he thought that was a great idea. He turned to look at Dr. Lewis, who seemed torn about wanting to spend the day with her beau and insisting that said beau be at home to supervise what would be going on at his property. Dean held his breath, chanting in his mind, hoping his thoughts could be telepathically sent to the professor's head.

_Go away, go away, go away._

Dr. Lewis nodded slowly in agreement, reluctant but giving in to her need for a trip out of the house and a whole day with the Frances family. George grabbed his phone and Dean wondered who he was calling. His question was answered when George gave an enthusiastic greeting to the person on the other end. "Hi Trin honey. Are you awake yet? We are going to the beach today remember?"

He listened for a while to what his daughter was saying, and then after calling out an "Okay", he ended the call and repeated the conversation with his son.

Eleven o'clock saw them waving the Frances' and Dr. Lewis off the property, as they piled into one of the two SUVs that George owned. Sam went back to their room and the internet to start on his half of the research while Dean checked out the property. He wasn't sure where to go first. It was shaping up to be a really hot day and although he'd never minded walking, especially on flat land, he thanked his lucky stars for the golf cart that was offered. As he walked towards the vehicle he reviewed what they had done so far.

They'd checked out Sam's former guest room for EMF right before breakfast, and they were rewarded with a loud humming from the meter, its lights flashing wildly; the same reaction as they had gotten the night before. The readings seemed to be stronger around the bathroom area, and although they searched thoroughly, they couldn't find anything out of place in the immaculate bathroom. They had checked out Dean's room before they dropped off to sleep the previous night, but the reading there wasn't strong enough to warrant suspicion.

Dean had made sure he was armed with a small silver knife, his own favorite Glock, and a pocketful of salt – in a Ziploc of course; he didn't want to ruin his jacket – from the trunk of the Impala, as he set out to explore the property. He patted the weapons, reassured by their weight as he set out for the unknown. He couldn't wait to find out what secrets were hidden in the grounds of the vast property.

***SnSnSnSnSn***

Sam stole a glance at his watch and groaned. Two hours had passed since he'd started research, and he had little to show for it.

After walking around several parts of the house with the EMF meter and coming up with nothing, he'd settled in to do some research online. He hacked into the urban development office's computers, but so far there were only listings and prices of the property and the other lands surrounding it, and what George said checked out. There was a low turnover of owners in that area, so Sam jotted down the names of the owners of the neighboring land, with the intent to dig further into their families if need be.

He visited Trinity's Facebook page, and could immediately see the difference between the past Trinity and the present one, if he were to go with the pictures that she had posted online. The good thing about the albums was that they were dated, so Sam wrote down the dates of the events, planning to check them out with the girl if anything out of the ordinary happened on those occasions. The wide, happy smiles that graced her face in the pictures were miles away from the tentative grin that she presented to them yesterday at dinner and during the interview. It was no surprise that her father was worried about her.

He would bet his laptop that George's worry was similar to his own for his brother. Dean hadn't been himself lately, and looked even more weary since they stepped foot in this house. He didn't know if it was the case or the location that made him act the way he was now, or if Ellen and Jo's deaths were finally hitting him.

It was an accurate observation that Dean always got jittery among the rich. The younger Winchester had a theory that being around them took Dean back to the days when they lived for a whole summer in Orange County, California. He remembered each of them taking up various odd jobs for grocery money while Dad was on a hunt, mowing lawns or cleaning pools, or even, once, as waiters at a house party. They'd managed to earn a decent amount of money, but Dean had been forced to curb his tongue and attitude over the snide remarks about their family for three months, and even now, Sam wasn't sure if Dean had thought it was worth it.

He sighed and returned his focus to his research. For the sake of being thorough, he took a look at Skylar's Facebook page as well. Compared to his sister's, his page was almost bare, having a much shorter list of friends and only about twenty pictures as opposed to Trinity's hundreds. He seemed like the same geeky boy that he appeared to be over dinner last night. He read some of the comments on the kid's account wall, but there was nothing there to help them. Neither of them had mentioned the strange goings on in the house.

He clicked on another tab on his browser and opened a website on the supernatural that had served them well over the years. He lingered on the page that he had kept open since that morning, a page full of information about poltergeists. He reread what was written there even though he was familiar with the creatures, having banished several in the past. So far, it was the most likely suspect for the disturbances. Sam liked to cover his bases as much as he could, ruling out alternatives until they were relatively sure about what they were dealing with. He had a strange feeling that the answer to the case was not going to be that straightforward, but he decided to accept Occam's razor – the simplest solution - until proven otherwise.

He was rechecking the list of ingredients that they needed to make the protection bags when his brother came stumbling in, sweating profusely, along with a cap that he hadn't had on before. Without saying anything, Dean toppled face-down onto the bedding.

"Great, Dean, now all the pillows are going to stink of your sweat," Sam grumbled.

"Whatever, dude. It's boiling outside. You can crack open an egg, and it'll cook right there on the road," Dean replied, voice muffled by the bedding. After a beat, he turned to lie on his back, and Sam could see his face was dark, almost flushed.

"Can I cook the egg on your face instead?"

"Haha, very funny. Is my face really red?" Dean lifted his right hand to poke his cheek, and winced.

"Not really, but I think you're going to get more freckles." Sam was relieved to note that Dean's face wasn't sunburned.

"Uh-huh. I don't doubt that. Thank god Brian had some sunscreen with him, otherwise my face would be peeling already."

Sam smiled wide, amused. Dean had just admitted to doing something practical. "You wore sunscreen? The manly, invincible, Dean Winchester willingly rubbed some lotion on his face to preserve his beauty?"

Dean threw a pillow at him, which he dodged easily. "Shut up. It's for protection. As it is, I'm going to look like Lindsay Lohan in Parent Trap, face full of freckles."

"Well, at least you admitted to looking like a ten year old girl. So, anyway, what did you get from your recon?"

Dean smirked. "Recon? You James Bond now?"

Sam flipped him off, and gestured at him to continue. His brother tended to get distracted easily lately, and Sam had to work to keep him focused.

Dean obliged him. "This place is huge, Sam. There's a golf course, mini golf course, but still, a damn golf course! The stables are on the other side of the golf course, and there's a garden behind the house, where the late Mrs. Frances liked to tend by herself. A lot of flowers, and a waterfall feature I think, you'll love it, you can go take a look later. The pool is beside the garden, and it's huge, and there's a building that Brian said is the pool house. What the hell is a pool house?"

As Dean spoke, the pencil in his hands flew across a blank page of the journal, sketching a rough plan of the areas that he'd explored a few hours before. Sam ignored the jibe about him liking the flowers, and studied as Dean drew, taking note of the estimated distances of each feature against the others. He trusted his brother's judgment, and if the plan was a reasonable approximation of the layout, it meant that George's property was more extensive than they'd believed.

He answered Dean's question. "A pool house is like, a small indoor hall that people usually use during summer to get out of the sun and into the shade after they've gone swimming. I guess in George's case, it's big enough to qualify as a house."

"No shit, Sherlock. It's bigger than some of the houses that we've stayed in. Brian didn't want me to go in, so I can't check if anything's hinky there, but I don't think so." He added another feature on the sketch, this one slightly further away from the rest, and situated behind the garden.

"This one is Skylar's tree house. It has its own generator, along with its own TV and sofa, table and a freaking rug, dude. I thought tree houses are supposed to be pieces of wood with nothing inside and you're supposed to rough it out like you're camping?" Dean sounded puzzled at the apparent anomaly, and Sam couldn't help but laugh at the tone.

"Dean, rich people, remember? Their idea of 'roughing it' doesn't include pre-packaged rations or sleeping bags in the back of the Impala. Anyway, it's on his father's property. If he doesn't feel comfortable, he could just hoof it back to his room."

Dean shrugged. He indicated another building beside the house on the plan. "This one is the garage, and there's a shortcut from our room to where the cars are. Brian showed me. We don't have to walk all the way to the front porch and then turn back to the garage. Cool huh?"

Dean sounded like a child in a candy shop, and Sam had missed the enthusiasm that hadn't been present since he got his brother back from the literal Hell.

"So, apart from drooling over the tree house and the garden and the golf course, which by the way I don't get because you don't even like the sport, did you learn anything that might be useful in the case?"

His older brother smirked. "Hey, this is me. I brought along the EMF meter, but there was nothing significant, so I think it's localized in the main house. More interestingly, I got Brian talking and I learned that originally, this property stops just after the back garden, the one that George's wife liked. George wanted to buy the adjoining land for years, but the neighbor who owned the land beyond that always declined to sell, saying that he needed the land for his horses or something. Recently, probably due to the financial crisis, he sold the property and moved out. That was when George managed to buy the land to add on to his property. Guess how recent that was?"

Sam grinned and hazarded an educated guess. "Three years ago?"

Dean snapped his fingers and pointed to him, eyes lighting up. "Yahtzee. Brian mentioned that George bought the land a few months after his wife died. So now the $32,000 question is, how is this related to the case?"

Sam opened up the tab that had listings of all of the properties in the immediate area. The owners were not listed, but he thought that he might be able to find them through the phone book. "But the attacks began only recently. Maybe that's just a coincidence."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. There wasn't any reading on the meter, but it's just...a feeling, you know?"

"Well, okay." Sam trusted Dean's hunches with his life. "Did Brian say anything about the attacks, anything new happening right before the attacks?"

"That's another thing. He knew an awful lot about what happened to Trinity. He suggested that her problems might be hereditary. Turns out Mrs. Frances acted the same way right before she died, listless and convinced that something was hurting her."

"Erm, Dean, I don't think paranoia can be passed down through the genes."

Dean snorted. "Whatever, you know what I mean."

Sam frowned. "That might be why George is so worried about his daughter, but I wonder why George didn't mention that yesterday."

"He probably thought that it wasn't related? Or maybe it's too painful for him to remember."

"Nah, that's not it. There should be some sort of reaction at least, some kind of flashback, when he was telling us what happened. But he talked about it as though it was new to him."

Dean just shrugged. "We could ask him later, catch him off guard. Should be interesting to see his reaction. _And_ he was supposed to give us the footage on the nights of the attacks, but he didn't."

Sam sighed. "Hmmm. We should also ask him if we could do the EMF readings in his room and the kids' rooms. I made a sweep of the first floor and most of the second floor here, but there're no traces of EMF anywhere. Right now, I'm thinking poltergeist activity even though nothing in the room was flying around when she was attacked. I think we should do up the protection bags and spread them around, just to be safe. Maybe we can draw it out that way."

"Fine by me. Did you find out anything more about Skylar and Trinity?"

"Nothing that can help us, although the sister has a lot of albums for the different events in her Facebook page, so I wrote down the dates and we can ask her later. Skylar's page has nothing of use. He's either a lot more private than we thought, or he has no friends."

"A little bit of both, I think. You know, do you think we really need to talk to them again? We could spread the protection bags and the attacks will stop, and that will be it."

"Since when we are ever that lucky? And besides, we still need to let George know that we're going to hammer out holes at every corner of his house on every floor."

Dean grimaced, already thinking of the expression on the architect's face. "Yeah, I'm gonna let you explain that one."

***SnSnSnSnSn***

"You want to what!"

On retrospect, they could have brought up the topic more tactfully. But really, Dean thought, there was no good time for it, because George had came through the front door just before two in the afternoon with a thunderous expression, and the children had trailed in with forlorn expressions.

Dr. Lewis was not with them. George had immediately bellowed to Annie the housekeeper to prepare some food, and then he turned to the Winchesters - who happened to be right by the door when they entered - and demanded to know what they'd accomplished so far. He was sure that his Sasquatch of a brother did try to be gentle when he laid down what they had done, and what they were going to do, but clearly George didn't think so.

"You're not even sure that it was a poltergeist. And what happens if it doesn't work?"

Dean wanted to ask the man what he would do if it did work, but he could see Sam was trying to reason with him, so he held his tongue. It was hard, but if he could stay silent when a snotty brat had dressed him down publicly all those years ago, he could keep his mouth shut here.

Barely.

"Look George, if it doesn't work, we'll try something else, but right now, that's the likely culprit, and it's the only way to get rid of a dangerous spirit. You want Trinity to be safe, don't you?"

The mention of his daughter's safety deflated George's ire for the moment, and he glanced over to his children who were following the conversation with wide eyes. Then he looked back at Dean and his anger inflated again. "You're proposing to demolish my house! Did you think I would just give you my keys and let you!"

Dean rolled his eyes, his impatience climbing. Both Skylar and Trinity must had gotten their calm demeanor from their mother, because between the veiled threat – having influence over the local police if anything happened – yesterday and this latest vehemence, George was turning out to be the dramatic one in the family. Who knew?

"No, I'm not allowing you to deface my property for something you're not even sure of."

Dean was still trying to hold on to his composure, pitching his voice low. "We're not going to tear the house down, only making small holes in the corners of some of the room that you can easily seal and paint over. For God's sake, man, this should be the least of your problems. You should be worried more about the safety of your children than your damn house." He was dimly aware he was getting louder towards the end.

"WHO SAID I'M NOT WORRIED?" George roared.

"ENOUGH," Sam said loudly, standing between them, trying to diffuse the tension in the room. "Dean, shut up."

Dean abruptly snapped his mouth shut, calming down but still annoyed.

His brother turned to their client and said, "George, please, we know what we are doing, and we won't be trying to destroy anything."

Before George could answer, Trinity stepped forward, her voice soft but firm, addressing Sam. "If we let you do this, will the attacks stop permanently?"

The brothers exchanged looks, and Dean raised his eyebrow, silently letting his brother decide if he wants to tell the truth. Sam nodded slightly, acknowledging the responsibility. He turned back to the young woman. "Honestly, we don't know. But it's the safest bet. Like I said before, this is the only way to get rid of the type of harmful spirits our research and knowledge indicate this is."

Sufficiently cooled, Dean thought he should extend an olive branch.

"George, it's a small price to pay for peace of mind. It's not like we're going to hack down an entire wall. It's just a small hole at each corner, hardly noticeable. No harm, no foul."

Trinity faced her father and spoke in the same tone. "Dad, we have to try."

"Yeah Dad, we have nothing to lose if we try it anyway," Skylar piped in.

Her father sighed, breath exhaling loudly, and rubbed his face with his hands. He looked undecided, and Dean mentally crossed his fingers. "Fine. Alright, you have my consent to break the walls. Do you need anything else?"

"You need to get yourselves and your staff out of the house for the night. Go for dinner or a movie or even camp out at your lawn or tree house if you want to, as long as no one else is in the house but us when we start tossing the bags in the walls. We don't want any collateral damage if the spirit turns violent."

Dean paused, and then added, "Oh, and we need a map of your house. Preferably the actual blueprints."

George flapped a hand, his gesture in agreement with whatever they were saying.

"Fine, fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to my room. Trin, ask Lela to send up a tray when it's ready. I'm going to be busy the rest of the night, don't disturb me unless it was a matter of life or death." And with that, he strode off, presumably to his bedroom, the rest of them watching until he was out of sight.

"What's gotten his goat?" Dean murmured to Sam, perplexed. This morning all of them had been in high spirits when they left, and this was a complete turnabout.

"He had a fight with Dr. Lewis," Skylar blurted, shuffling forward and staring at both of them, blushing with wide eyes.

"Skylar, don't make it sound worse than it actually was." Trinity chided her brother. She looked apologetically at the Winchesters. "Dad and Dr. Lewis had a bit of a... disagreement while we were at the beach, and she didn't want to come back here, so we took her home. Nothing to worry about."

Her brother cleared his throat, and everyone's attention turned back to him. "I drew a plan of the house last summer, if you want I could give it to you. It's nothing official, but ..."

Dean grinned and slapped the boy on the shoulder. "That's great, Sky. It doesn't have to be exact, we just need to know where the corners of the house are. And how many floors there are. And where the exits are in case we need to make a quick getaway."

Skylar grinned widely, not hiding that he was pleased to be of help to them. "It's in my room. I'll go get it now." And he scampered off, leaving his sister with them. She smiled, but Dean could see the fear in her eyes.

"I'll...go and see what's taking Lela and Annie so long." And so the remaining member of the Frances family fled. Dean and Sam looked at the fleeing figure, then at each other, and both shrugged simultaneously.

They proceeded to trek to the garage, where all the ingredients for making the protection bags were stored in the trunk of the Impala.

"What was that back there?" Sam suddenly threw that question out. Dean, who was expecting it, tensed nonetheless.

"Nothing."

"Dean, you were almost shouting. You nearly lost your temper. That's not nothing."

"Drop it, Sam. Concentrate on the job, not me." Honestly, he didn't know what had come over him either, but he wasn't about to tell his brother that. He simply wanted to finish up the case, and leave.

Sam muttered under his breath about idiotic brothers. Dean pretended not to hear, and then Sam spoke aloud, "With luck, everything will be settled by tonight."

"With luck," Dean echoed his brother's words, but nothing more. He resolutely ignored the twist inside his gut, telling him that luck didn't always favor their side. 

***SnSnSnSnSn***

The maps of the house that Skylar had provided were pretty impressive. Drawn in markers and pens, color coded, they detailed all three floors of the house, which included the basement, making it easier for the brothers to work out where the corners of each floor were and to make sure the way was clear for them for that night. Dean suggested making the holes beforehand, but after a discussion, they decided against it, for fear the poltergeist would start to retaliate sooner than expected. There were civilians in the house who would most likely be red flags for it, even though it was still daylight, and they didn't want to chance it. From what they'd heard, this particular poltergeist attacked mostly at night.

Sam spent the rest of the afternoon making the protection bags in the car – they didn't want to give the spirit a heads up if it was hanging out in the house – while Dean talked himself through checking for EMF hotspots for the family's various bedrooms and the basement with Skylar in tow. Sam was surprised his brother let the boy tag along with him, but whatever, he knew his brother had a soft spot for the fourteen year old, and wouldn't let the boy come to any harm. And he knew his brother was armed. Dean called him an hour later, saying there were elevated readings in George's room, but nothing alarming. In Skylar and Trinity's rooms, there was nothing.

A little flicker of doubt niggled at Sam's mind at that, but he brushed it off. Like Dean once told him, they were better off not borrowing trouble.

The rest of the afternoon was rather tension-laden. Dean joined him in the Impala and they finished making the protection bags, spending the hour after that double checking their weapons, and making sure everyone else was out of the house when the sun finally set. George had ordered the staff to stay at the hotel downtown, all expenses paid, and arranged for them to return tomorrow. They met with some resistance from Brian at first, but Annie the housekeeper had taken him aside. Sam didn't know what she said, but whatever it was worked, and all three of them left by six, the sun setting soon after.

They armed themselves with the plans along with a small tack hammer for each of them to make a small hole in the walls. Sam opted to take the second floor while Dean took the first floor and the basement. Sam was thankful the house wasn't any taller than three floors in total, because it was huge and twisty filled with nooks and corners, making navigation more difficult than it should have been.

Sam finished his round in about twenty minutes, the walls offering little resistance even though they were slightly thicker than any other walls he'd encountered. He hit a minor snag at the south corner, tripping over a tangled mop of wires and spending a couple of minutes thinking they were going to start flying on their own to wrap around his neck.

His ears were perked up for sounds of things flying or his brother's voice in case he needed to run to Dean's rescue. Even as he hacked the last wall in Skylar's bedroom – which was housed in the north corner of the floor – he looked over his shoulder, not wanting a repeat of the strangulation-by-lamp-cord scene. There was a heavy-looking lamp on the left side of the bed. He had his knife in his other hand, ready to cut through any wires that might want to wrap itself round his neck. His shotgun was right beside him, loaded with rock salts.

After hacking a big enough hole, he threw the last of the bags in, spun around, holding his breath and hyper alert for any sudden movements.

Silence. Not even a bump. And nothing was throwing itself towards him.

_Huh._

Still wary, Sam checked the plan and headed towards the stairs that would lead him straight to the basement, forehead furrowed, thinking. It was virtually impossible for a poltergeist to be so passive when they were trying to get rid of it. Usually there would be a lot of things thrown about, cupboards blocking the doors to the rooms, flying knives missing them by inches, the works. But here there was nothing of the sort. The silence was not oppressive, but just _quiet_ quiet.

He walked down the stairs to the basement slowly, a small beam of light showing him the way. Even from the top of the stairs he could Dean tearing a hole in the wall, and as he reached the bottom the hacking sound stopped.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was soft, cautious.

"Yeah, it's me."

He walked over, following the direction of the voice, finding Dean behind the jukebox on the far end of the basement, the hammer in one hand, the flashlight and the bags on the other. His own shotgun was leaning against the wall. They opted to switch off all electrical appliances via the main switch, since by experience they knew it was all too easy to get electrocuted through a live wire. His brother was looking none the worse for wear.

"Are you almost done with the basement?"

"Two more to go after this one." Dean handed Sam one of the bags. "You take the north corner," he pointed to a spot in the map, "and I'll take the last one on the east."

Sam did as instructed, walking past a pool table and feeling his way around a bar counter and finally hacking a hole right beside the refrigerator. The last of the bags was dropped with both of them present at the corner, by the stairs, Dean concentrated on making a hole in the wall and Sam with the shotgun, guarding them from any unexpected attacks. It was bound to happen any moment now. Dean nodded to Sam, and threw the bag in. And both of them inhaled.

_Any moment now. Yup._

Ten minutes later, as the Winchesters trotted up the stairs to the main floor, Sam decided to jinx it. "That was way too easy."

Because their experiences with poltergeists were shared, Dean just gave him a look that he could plainly read. _Ya think?_

***SnSnSnSnSn***

So are you sufficiently intrigued? Did I stop at the correct place? *cackles*

Thanks for reading! I won't say that the next part will be up tomorrow, but within the next few days.


End file.
